Shouldn’t This Be My Story?Multiple Sclerosis


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Cottonwood once told me, “Life is a story; when people first start to learn about the story they think it is a tragedy; but if one day they come to understand it for what it is they know it to be a comedy.” By which I guess Cottonwood was telling me that I was still learning about life, since I see it as a tragedy, I hope one day though to understand and be able to laugh.

Sometimes there are things that you just cannot believe; your own world fills you and gives you comfort, but this cannot last forever reality’s claws sink in to what is yours. You may choose ignorance and a coach to lie on rather then face what is really in the world. The world we have, how wonderful it should be, how horrible it can be. Sometimes you can convince yourself that the world is happiness, other times, as I said, reality will shove its way in and kill off any such illusions. Each of us think that we deserve happiness, comfort, but there is nothing real in the thought, nothing at all. The belief is just that, a belief, it is based on no facts, no evidence, I had that faith once, but no more. I have lived my life, looked at the evidence and tested the facts, and nothing seems to inherently deserve happiness. What we deserve and why I have no idea, but it is not happiness, it is not comfort. Comfort necessitates understanding, in life there are no systems or structures one can use to understand why you are happy now and sad then. Life is like a multicolored ball of yarn, each hue a new kind of insanity, and together it knits nothing but confusion.

But back to reality working its way in, I saw on the television last night a commercial. Monteal WilliamS was talking, but visually there was only a black screen. What channel was it on? I do not know; the fact it was a black screen is what I remember. Large white letters appeared spelling out the speakers name across the black screen. And his words went on, I did not want to hear him, I did not want to know what he said, as each letter of his name began then to disappear. I did not want to think about the world outside of myself; only I should matter, the bastard should keep his mouth shut, he should mind his own business, and he should not talk about mine. But my business he touched on, though he will never know me, or see me, or even know he pried, he did. Those white letters on the black screen that slowly disappeared until only the first and last letter sat there. They stared at me and I stared back. Proudly I say that I met their stare, their horribly bland stare. I faced them, and with them I faced my own reality. Not the one I wanted, not the one I should have had, but the one that I have. Reality pulls a person off their feet and kicks them, and does not even flinch to keep kicking when that person lies prone. How long ago did I first pay attention to those two letters, first hear them with the power that they have now. How long ago did I believe that letters had no power (how can two letters have so much power)? Four-five months ago, about a month before I started to lie about them. People’s reaction, my family, my friends, my wife, all them broke into pity when they heard about the tests. All them became different people as they listened to what was possible about me, and so I learned to lie. It took a month, for me to realize that they could not take the truth, and I could not take their pity, so I told them the doctors had been wrong, they were no longer sure, there was nothing to worry about, no reason to pity. I lied to the world, but the world would not lie to me.

My eye sight has come, gone, and come again; the weakness of my hands in the morning is so great that sometimes I am unable to turn the knob on the shower; one week my hand would not close without work; my body has declared a strike, and there is nothing that I can do about it. My emotions rollercoaster, and my mind grows confused, where am I if even my mind is not mine to control any longer. There is no one I can ask for help, nor anyone who could help if I could ask. There is reality, and nothing can help us against this monster. Reality is the monster that has kicked me again and again, ripped out my mind, and then my heart. What shall it leave me? It has taken away from me my world, my happiness, my wife, my intelligence, my body, and my control.

The doctors tell me to be happy, today I can walk, today I can see, today I have some control in my hands or strength in my body. But the question is will I have these things tomorrow, or the next day; will I wake up in the morning without control of my hands, or without a clear view of the world I live in? Will I be able to see to feed my dog, will I even be able to walk her to the door? I know that I must be alone through this; reality has decided that no wife or friend will stay with me to keep me company as I wait (not at least without pity, and who wants pity?). The things that the doctors tell me are from the mouths of those who do not face this future, they may know about the “how” of the sickness, but they will never understand the “is.” As long as they spout out this crap about today’s happiness without experiencing the pain of confusion, the loss of control, that I feel every morning before I have to start my day. Every night’s wondering if this was the last good day, or if the next few days will be lived with blurred vision or weak hands. They do not know the sentence this diagnoses is. But the doctors are our new priests the new keepers of secrets, one cannot just tell them to shut up, to leave their happiness for those patients they can cure, and let the rest of us wallow. It would be uncouth to tell them to I have no need of their crap would like to tell them.

But now back to the black screen with white letters, the words of Mr. WilliamS. What can one say? I think he says it all in his speech, I would repeat it for you if I could, his wonderful monolog, but I do not remember it, it did not register. I just felt those letters blazing into my brain, and making me face what I am, and with that his words sang into my ears what those letters meant. What I would live with from now on, and what I had refused to face or accept for 5 months. As I said in the beginning, some things one simply can refuse to believe. Even when you accept it inside, you can hide from it, and when those around do not know it only makes it easier to hide. Cottonwood once told me to be careful because, “one can hide from sickness, divorce, suicide, revelation, and all sorts of other pain which live in reality.” I did not believe it then, but now how many things have I hid from; how many pains have I buried my head in the sand to avoid. This minute of black screen, with white letters woke me, shook me; and now as you can see I have started to write, I have a tale to tell, a person to be, and I must write the story so that I can get back to my coach, my comfort, my self deception.

I have heard some people claim that their mothers, wives, grandmothers, fathers, and friends are saints; you will find none of that here. Not because I dislike any of these people, but that my story is a story of humans. A story of humans does not contain saints, because real humans are not saints, they are both good and bad, they love and they hate, they create pleasure and happiness in the world, but they also create pain and sorrow. I think that this is true for all things, Mothers, Fathers, Grandparents, Wives, Goddesses, everyone seems to be a conglomeration of parts.


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What the Doctors Say

It was summer time when my vision decided to blur. I guess my brain did not like the world it was looking at so it covered it up with a curtain of blindness. I had no idea what had happened to my world of vision, someone had messed with my focus button and had not bothered to fix it. I was suppose to work, but how can one drive without sight, let alone do my job watching employees, and helping customers. Basically I could not get to my job, I could not do my job, and I could barely see the phone to call work. What could I even tell them was wrong, one does not just wake up with bad eyesight, that is something that takes time and slow progression, one does not just wake up one day almost blind. But yet I had, I had woken up as close to blind as one can be without being blind. I called work, gave them some excuse, something to make them not worry, but allow me to stay home. I did not have time to let the fear really sink in up tell this point. I had to worry about work and how to get out of it. It might have only been minutes, but it had settled me. I had figured assessed my situation and I had handled it, even figuring out how to use the phone and discuss nothing with the person who answered. I had made it this far with few problems, except being almost blind. But what was next, what was to follow this victory over my sudden situation. I followed it with failure, and then I hid from it. My failure was making a doctor’s appointment, it was Saturday, and I could not see the phone book. I hid from it by going back to bed. As I laid there I wondered how long this could last, what was wrong with my eyes?
Let me lay there for a while and wonder, worry, and hide. While we let me lay wondering, worrying, and hiding, I will attempt to explain a little about myself. My name is D I was 25 when this attack happened. I had recently returned to college with the support and assistance of my employer the a casino. I was a [...] for the Casino and it was the best job I had ever had. The pay was great, I was respected, I did a great job, and I loved what I did. In the last few months I had experienced moments of confusion, and lack of clarity. I had found that reading was getting harder and that I had to reread several pages, this rereading was pain, and it would not stop. Having to reread things was a problem for work, but worse for school. I am a philosophy major and reading large amounts of difficult material is an essential part of my life. I had been working and studying for a few years now without a break, and I placed all my confusion and fatigue on burnout. My wife was on a study abroad in France, so I could not rely on her to help me through the problems I was going through, and telling her about them seemed to alienate her. So I stopped mentioning it. My Grades dropped from A’s to B’s, luckily the semester ended, and summer began. I have taken summer classes since I started college and I had already registered for them and so I continued with these studies. I planned to take three classes, each a month long and I had set it up so that I could take on early summer and two in late summer, but that was before my situation.

I think we have let me lay there long enough; any other history will have to wait until its discussion is necessary. As I have said my wife was in France and I lived only with her two dogs. They were the reason I had to get up, they need out, and they needed food and water. I found that the blurred world could swim at times and in those times I found sight was slightly easier. I moved back and forth from the bed to the coach, back and forth trying to figure out what I was going to do if I remained like this, what life changes I would needed. The bed was a weight under me the coach was a weight on me, the house closed on me, drained me. What could I do? What should I do? What could I do? Nothing.

This is how day one started and stopped, and this is how day two started and continued. I was an aimless ship on a sea of blurry confusion. I let the waves of my life wash over me, under me, and through me. To say I was scared by this second day is as big an understatement as I could make, and understatement that drains me. I have lived a life since this day as understatements, understatements that have drained my trust in others, in their ability to accept me as I am. That night was Sunday and my wife decided to bless me with a call. It was reassuring to hear her voice, hear her sweet voice. But when I broached the subject of my situation she told me there was nothing wrong, that I must just be tired from work and school. She explained that I needed rest and that it would help me. She told me that if I was worried I should make a doctor’s appointment. She avoided talking to me about anything important, about her life, or about mine. She kept the conversation on general things, and I let her voice wash over me. I slept that night uncomfortably, unhappily, and blindly.

I awoke with sight, not perfect, but sight none the less. I called a doctor and made an appointment, they could see me on Thursday; I accepted and went about my life. Classes went by like a dream, as if I was not there, and they were not real. I emailed M about my appointment; she emailed me back that she would call me Thursday night to find out what the doctor said. My week was dream, and by Thursday my vision had returned completely too normal. I am so alone. Two minutes ago I was alone, and two minutes from now I will be alone, alone with this, but you care as much as my wife does so let’s move on.

The nurse took tests mainly blood and vision. She was nice, if a little stern, and her forced smile, made me comfortable. She had the same problems every nurse I have known has had with me. My veins are little and they like to jump and squirm, I of course never help the nurse, since I also jump and squirm. We completed the tests, and then met a doctor. He was nice, though a tad too joyful and optimistic for my taste, but I will say this for a family practitioner I would rather give him a fortune for not curing me then to give a hundred dollars to others who claim to be able to cure me. He explained that the test needed to come back, that there was nothing wrong with my eyes, that it was probably a misbalance with something, that it could be neurological. After going over questions and looking at my medical history, he brought up the possibility of MS and a couple of other issues that could be at fault. My medical history pointed at MS, because other situations that I had found myself in where strong indicators. The fact my vision problem came and went so fast was a strong indicator. He called for a MRI. I nodded my head not understanding any of this; he explained that the MRI would look at my brain and spinal column for indicators of what it was exactly. I left the doctors office unsure what was going on, what I had or why. But the doctor had mentioned the letters MS several times, asking me if I had questions about it, if I would like to know more, just in case. He had tried not to make it known, but it had obviously been his strongest assumption. What are two letters to me I thought and went home.

M did not bother to call she was busy with friends. It seems it was not that she did not care, just that she did not think that it was a big deal, that I could not have something really wrong with me, that their could not be some horrible thing going on to my brain or to my world. I cannot blame her; she was having fun with her friends; her friends where there in front of her, they where real in the way that only flesh and blood people can be. I was merely a voice on the phone. I was merely some letters on her computer screen. What is real about a couple of letters? Especially when compared to flesh and blood friends? It was Sunday before she called, and I had grown resentful. Our conversation was short, and unpleasant. I had done some research on MS and had begun convincing myself that I had something else, something else, something less scary. I did not know what to do or say to express my fears to her, my fears where that I would someday go blind, be a cripple, be helpless, and be a basket case. You see MS the things you find out about MS when researching it are very scary very unpleasant. You read about people losing their emotional control, and losing the use of their body, or at least its parts. How do you convey that fear to someone on the phone, how do you express what you are going through, when it is possible that you might not have the disease. How can you explain what it is like when they hammer the last nail and you have a convicted feeling, of being in a horrible Kafka like trial? You cannot express it to someone who has no clue, and never will.

Monday was another trip to the doctor, the test results
where back, the MRI was scheduled, but it would not be for a month (busy little machine that MRI). I fumed at the nurse about such a long time before an appointment, she could do nothing, and I could do nothing, which is something that became common. The doctor told me that he could not be sure until the MRI came back, but MS was the best bet, that he had called in a neurologist from another town. I would meet with a neurologist; I would have to talk to a doctor who specialized in the brain. The doctors were obviously overreacting, I am not the kind of person who has to see the doctors that often, and I am really not the kind of person who has to see a specialist. Other people see neurologists, not me, not normal people, not people who have a happy and comfortably life, not normal people, not me. What could I do, but live my life, stay with the grind, hope that I could one day look back at this, and laugh. But now was not that time, I was alone, and loneliness was all I was.


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what doc's say 2

M called sometimes, when it did not interfere in her life, but what do you do when resentment starts to set in? What do you do when your spouse seems not to care? Loneliness covered me, and fear or confusion stayed with my life. I had class on some days and work on others. I began to wonder if I was depressed because of something in my brain or because I had a reason to be depressed. For someone who can has always been depended on this is the worst part, never being able to trust my own feelings why was I depressed, why was the pain of loneliness so powerful now when it had never bothered me before. Why were my emotions my emotions, was something else behind them, some neurological disorder, not that I was depressed and resentful of my spouse because I was going through the biggest scare of my life and she did not care, she did not ask what the doctors had to say, or how I was feeling about it. Any mention of it I met with a flat denial that anything could be wrong; I mean how I such an intelligent man could really have something wrong with his brain. What gave me the right to complain about reading slower, I still read faster then most people (her included), and so I was going through a phase, probably just stress. She told me nothing was wrong, all I needed was sympathy; instead I got “nothing is wrong.” I knew she could come home if she wanted, her classes where all over, and she was just waiting because her flight was not scheduled to leave for a few weeks, but I feared to ask her to come home early, I feared she would say no. Choosing her friends of flesh and blood over me, I feared that my spouse would tell me no, because there was nothing wrong, and that I was worrying for nothing. There are tears of pain and tears of frustration, and I know which ones I would rather have on my face, but then that choice I never received. I waited for the MRI, the time was slow and fast, the wait was killing, and the speed was too much. But the day came, and I went, I went alone. I had mentioned to my mother that I was taking tests, and she had wanted to be there, but I knew that she would worry more in a hospital then at home, so I went alone. She had showed signs of pity on the phone, and I could not both take pity from others and myself at the same time.

A hospital is a funny place, it smells sick, and it feels wrong. I filled out their forms and felt like I was checking into a hotel, or preparing to go to college, Lots of forms all asking the same questions, and at the bottom, the disclaimer that I laughed at because when alone you need something to laugh at. The disclaimer was that I would not hold the hospital responsible if I were to receive an injury while there, and that I understood that medicine was a theoretical practice and not an exact science. What does one say to that disclaimer, nothing, one signs there name and gets undressed. One needs a gown, and they do not allow metal when one gets an MRI. The operator feels the need to banter, just like a dentist. Question, question, question, from someone I have never met, and hope to never meet again (no offense).

A little table and a support for your head await you on the MRI table. The nice lady who is running the machine banters as she places a cage over your face, and leaves you alone on the table. She goes into another room where there is glass, and instructs you not to move your head, and then the table moves. It sucks you into a big circular object, and all you can see is white plastic through the bars of your cage. There is no looking around but if you did all there would be is white plastic anyway. And then the noise starts, like bells ringing, or metal clanking, and the whole world starts to gently rock. What sounds, what movements accompany the next 30 minutes, you have to try it to know, eventually the table rolls you back out and the operator is back in the room. They do not allow you to move though because it is not finished. The test is not complete. A needle is jabbed into the arm and you can do nothing but lay there as they pump crap into you. Then the table rolls you back in and another thirty minutes goes by. Noise and movement, a rolling table, and a needle removed. The operator tells you the table does not rock; the machine does not move except to suck you in and then spit you out, that the rocking is all an illusion. You get dressed and you go. They no longer need you for the rest of the process, no matter what it means to you, you would only be in the way, “run along home now, run along and see how life treats you there."

How long does the test take to show results? Less then a week, and the doctor explains that MS is no longer a possibility, it is a reality. They found a two millimeter scar on the brain and pointers in my spinal fluid are present. The doctor convicts me to a future of possible blindness and crippledom, and he smiles to tell me that great things are being done to combat this illness; I do not bother to mention to him that there is no cure. As I said earlier he is rather bothersomely optimistic for me, and he wants me to look on the bright side of everything, which I would not mind doing if I was on the bright side. He confirms I will be meeting with a neurologist who can better deal with my case. The appointment is set for after M’s return from France (a few weeks). I listen to the doctor’s words and I leave, what else am I do to, shock and its wonderful calm have set in and the world is free to be the world again. I on the other hand will never be me again. No matter what is going to happen to me, I will never again be who I was before I woke up one morning almost blind. My sight may have come back, but only a matter of time stood between me and other unpleasant situations.

First my wife calls, she makes it clear that nothing is wrong, and that nothing had better be wrong, I do not disappoint her. I tell her nothing is wrong, that my symptoms are “MS like” but not MS. I know she could take no other response, she cannot accept that I have a problem, and so I allow her the pleasure of being right, I was just worried over nothing. Next my mother calls, I fear that I lie to her as well. Nothing is wrong, I am seeing a specialist, but nothing should be worried about. I smile tenderly into the phone and she can hear the smile in my voice. Next I call my father, more lies, and more “no problems.” Everyone gets the same story everyone has their pity chased away, by my lies. I could not stand their tears, their pity, their denials, their misunderstanding; I would not be able to stand someone else’s reaction, because I can barely stand mine. I have told lies to the three people who are closest to me; the few friends I have mentioned my tests to follow this. They are not impressed, they are not alone, everyone accepts my condition as not problematic, no one wants to believe in the great daemon MS, not even me. My resentment, depression, and jealousy has grown to such an extant that when combined with my wife’s complete apathy for anything to do with me, we find ourselves unable to communicate. I know the pain it is loneliness. But I hope for a change when she returns, she is due back before the neurologist appointment. I already have my conviction, and no matter what the neurologist say M will know as much as she cares to know, as much as she has proven she wants to know, and that is that nothing is wrong. Do not misunderstand. I am not only resentful, but I am fearful. Her reaction is complete denial, and I do not want to push her until she decides to leave me. She does not want to face the truth, and I feel it is a mercy to her and me that I do not shove truth into her face. It is not every person who could knowingly stay with someone who has good chances of becoming a cripple, a blind cripple.

Loneliness and pity pull me. Loneliness covers me and devours every part of my life that it can get its little hands on. What can I do though to combat this feeling of facing the world alone, if I mention my situation to others, in the hopes to alleviate the burden, then they will fight it with pity. What is pity though, pity is when I stop being a person, and start being an object, or a child in need of protecting. Pity takes away what I am and hands me uselessness in return. And ironically in the end it does not save me from loneliness, but intensifies loneliness by making others aware and interested in it. I may want to be depressed but I do not want your pity.


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Golden Years: Love and Family

Life before the diagnoses, what golden years. Let me tell of that wonderful time. I will tell it in two parts, the first will be about my dearest love, my life, M. I will discuss my family as I discuss her. The next chapter will be about my work and school.

I spoke a little about myself earlier, and I will again later, but it is important that the reader understand the person I was, so that they can better understand the person I will become. I was born in Idaho in 1976 on a cold December day. I was raised north Idaho all my life. My biological father left before I could meet him, and a great man named J (from now on titled father or dad) adopted me. Dad was a mechanic and a straightforward man. He would do whatever he could to help those who he could help. He felt empathy for people, without feeling pity. I have always admired him for that. He could help a family with food or money, without it feeling like charity or a handout. It just felt right, and helpful. I realize now that this gift of his should be treasured and taught to others, because pity, removes ones individuality, and takes away their ability to be a person.

My mother left my father when I was still young. She had met another man, and decided to live with him. When my father told us it was the first time I had ever seen him cry. His pain over the divorce was intense but he did ever thing he could to make sure we did not think badly about our mother. He made constant excuses for her, even when his eyes said he did not believe them himself. But he moved on, and he met K. K was a miracle in my father’s life. She was loving and kind to him, ready to stand by him through the thick and thin of his life. She brought him joy and happiness, along with her support. When I see them together, I feel happy to have been witness to two people who really love each other. Sometimes I worry about my father, because we never see each other, but when I do, I think of K taking care of him. I know that he is happy, and if he is going through problems he has her to help him.

My mother worked for one government agency or another for as long as I can remember. First, she was a dispatcher for the sheriff’s office. Then, she worked for the BIA. And currently, she works for the FBI. She is married to F, the man she left my father for, and though I was at first very resentful of him, I now see he makes mom happy. Seeing mom and him together, and dad and K together makes me realize that divorce does not always have to be a bad thing. My parents use to fight a lot, but now they are happy with their new partners. I was raised on the poor side of life, but it was still really happy. Both my parents always made sure that the kids had what could be afforded to be had. I cared for them both, even though we often clashed. They taught me how to succeed, how to grow as a person and be happy.

I was living with a friend when I met M. I had been dating a girl who was doing more to support me then I was. I had a fun but crappy little job at a gas station. The pay and hours were horrible, but the atmosphere was great. It felt like a family. The people who worked there knew whom they liked and whom they didn’t. They worked and smoked, and lived their lives. It was one day at work when M came in. She bought an ice cream sandwich, and the only words she spoke to me where thank you. I was smitten. I called my girlfriend and broke up with her. I began to figure out how to budget my life without her aid. And I began to try to figure out how to meet this girl whose name I did not yet know.

She had been wearing a volleyball t-shirt, and I knew the girls on the team. I called one of them and cornered her on as much information as I could get. I began to attend the games, and watch for M. I found reasons to talk to her, and I eventually was able to ask her to go to the fair with me. It was a double date with my cousin and his girlfriend, but we split up into couples as soon as we got to the fair.

I think M did not like me from the moment we meet to the moment we rode on the Zipper. She was humoring me by going out on this date, and was assuring herself that she would be done with me soon. But then we rode the Zipper, a large carnival ride that spins around an oval frame, with little boxes attached around it. The boxes (where you set) also spin as the oval spins, so there is a lot of spinning. M did not mention that she was terrified of spinning in high places, and that this terror was a phobia. She seemed to think the ride was more like a Ferris Wheel then a roller coaster, and we got on. I have rode with frightened people before and since, but nothing like M. Her hands turned white, and her face grew slack. She screamed, cried, and eventually just froze repeating to herself that she wanted off over and over. I knew the ride would not stop for a while, so I talked to her, attempted to get her mind on something else then our spinning lurching world. She talked and as she spoke she loosened up. She never came to enjoy the ride, but having to talk, took her mind off her fear somewhat.

We were holding hands when we got off, and we held hands for the next seven years, through separation of space and time, through living in separate countries, and people thinking we where wrong for each other. We held hands, and my love for her grew each day, until even her leaving me as burden to be caste off on the side of the road could not kill my love. Through out our relationship, M traveled (either on her mom’s money or mine) living in Colombia, France, Moscow, and only sometimes with me in Plummer. I eventually moved to Moscow to be closer to her, and further my education. Our love felt so strong, from my end.

Our wedding was Catholic, since she was Catholic. And her mother came up from Colombia, South America to watch it. M was from Colombia and English was her second language. Before we could get married she had-had to go back for a year so that immigration could get their paperwork together. But she had returned and we had married. My best-man D gave a wonderful speech, and the presence of friends and family was a gift. The heat of the day had made my vision a little blurry, but I had thought nothing of it. My joints where weak, but whose aren’t on their wedding day?


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Golden Years: Success

I did not go to college until I was twenty-three. Instead I went to work, first at a Gas Station, and then at the Casino. As I have said I was raised on the poor side, and so my job at the casino was a godsend. To the surprise of everyone I rose quickly through the ranks. I was positioned as a higher up in short order. I was not ‘qualified’ in any educational sense for the job, but still I excelled. I loved my job, and without modesty I can say that I was damn good at it. The employee’s seemed to like and respect me, and any job I needed to do was done efficiently and intelligently. Few could match me in dealing with irate customers. The pay was exceedingly good for someone of my age, and both my wife and I lived very well. I was not only working at this time though, but also starting school. At first I held down a 40 hour a week job and pursued reasonably high grades (3.5 GPA). Soon, I dropped to 30 hours a week to concentrate more on school. I loved my life.

I had three roles to juggle, and I juggled well. One was my family role, a good and decent husband who loved his wife, and would do anything for her. Second, I was a strict student, who was buckled down on his studies and never let a deadline go by unfulfilled. And third, I was a great [higher up] for the Casino; my employers had nothing but wonderful things to say about me and they promoted whenever possible. In three semesters I was had obtained an AA in English and an AS in Philosophy at the community college I had started at, and had moved on to a University which meant I had to drive an hour and a half to work each day. I was fulfilling many different duties at the Casino. My employers always supported me and told me what a great job I was doing. My department improved under my “rein” and the employees seemed to be the best the casino had to offer.

Let me say a little about my department before I go on. It was mostly women for the entire time I managed it. We were split between those who where grandparents and those who where grandchildren age wise. Each of them pushed to excel in their jobs, and there was little I needed to do to manage them into a great department. All they needed was a focus, and then everyone else needed to watch out. We were a family, they treated me like a favored son or brother. They kept my life in line for me, and they always had something either pleasant or corrective to say. I was surrounded by wonderful mothers, who each took pride in my life. I could not help it but feel like a part of a family that went through some rough times, but even then cared for each other. These women still call for me and seek me out, they still, now that I no longer work at the Casino, always ask after me and take pride in me. I wish I could tell them

In school, work, and life I felt like a success.


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Downward Spiral of Life

I saw the first neurologist around the same time that M came home from France. He was a weasel of a man. He was setting when I walked into his office and he smiled and little weasel smile. I wondered why Dr. B had suggested this rodent of a man, but in small town areas, one does not have a large choice of neurologists.

He asked me some questions, about fatigue and weakness, and then had me walk up and down the hallway. He used a rubber hammer to test my reflexes and honestly he seemed to do everything a doctor should do to examine a patient. He looked at my MRI and saw the 2 millimeter scar in my brain, and the indicators in my fluid. He pronounced that he was positive I had MS. Everything was professional. And he doctors talk, but it was the light in his eyes as he explained that it was incurable, the panting of his breath as he talked about expensive steroid treatments, and maybe a few more tests. It was a weasel’s glint in his eyes, and a lecher’s pant to his breath. He had found a meal ticket, and he was going to work it for as much as he could get.

He told me that with the vision problems I had been having and the shape my illness was taking, I would probably be blind in 5 to 6 years, and a cripple not long after that. Needless to say I was in shock, confused. The world smiled at me with a leering grin. I stumbled away, thinking of driving to Spokane for a second opinion. I had an appointment with Dr. B though, and I hoped he could clear up what Dr. Rodent had said.

I am glad that I had the appointment with Dr. B, and I am glad for Dr. B. If most Doctors seem to be money grubbing sluts, he is not one of them. He is concerned with the health and welfare of his patients. He admitted that he knew only a little about MS, but that he would help me to learn about it. He suggested other neurologists to see, and get a second opinion. He gave me the best advice anyone has given me about my illness, “get educated.” He told me to by books and videos look on the net and find out as much information as possible. He said that at first I would find some contradictory information, and some information that would be wrong, but that the more I learned the better I would be in picking out the bullshit from the truth.

That day I did not take his advice, because I did not accept my situation, but today looking back, I know it is the best advice that anyone can give someone about problems in their life. 75% of the people with MS will not end up in a wheelchair; the majority will not end up blind. If you find a Dr. Rodent in your life telling you about your MS (or any other thing), smile and make a note that you have to confirm it with your own research. And remember that research can be hard, and you will hear things that you do not want to hear, but knowledge is power, and if you want to be stronger then MS you must be prepared for it.

But then as I said I did not heed his advice that day, I did not heed it for sometime. Instead I went home and worried, attempting to ignore the pain of my conviction.

Home was not exactly a cheery place, M had returned from France with something to say, but without the balls to say it. She looked at me as if I was some foreign animal that she had never seen before. Her tone with me had changed since I had told her I was having problems, and her reaction terrified me of what would happen when I told her the full truth. But I could not bring myself to tell her, because I could tell then and there that she was not interested in staying with me. She had decided in France that our marriage was over. Why or how I did not know, but her desire to move on I knew all the same. A lover can tell the difference in touch. She no longer laid her hand against my face when we would talk; she no longer let her arm fall over me as we slept. She acted as if all contact was some how uncomfortable or dirty. Even her look when she got off the plane was different; it was obvious that she was wondering why she had married me. I did not know what I could say or do to change things between us; she met every attempt by me with dislike. Even my attempt to be blunt, and ask what was wrong ended in her telling me nothing was wrong, nothing I could do about it anyway. I was helpless, and because of that I was resentful. In life one finds oneself helpless so often, that when two huge parts of their life go down the tubes at once, it becomes too much. It changes into resentment and despair. The world should not be this way, but it is, and we must learn to deal with it, rather then convince ourselves that it will change for us.

Her obvious growing disinterest and dislike for me made it harder for me to tell her. I did not want to tell her and have her stay out of pity, but then secretly I was afraid she would use it as another reason to leave. My weakness and changing eyesight was not difficult to hide from her. She did not even want to look at me, let alone see me when she did. I wanted her to love me, I wanted to believe her when she said that she did, but I could not lie to myself about two things at once. I was trying to come to terms with an illness that would one day take away my power over my own body, I did not have time to deal with her lack of feelings for me. And yet ironically I thought more of her, then of my sickness. The love I sent out to her, left me hollow when it did not return. I would watch her at night as she slept, and dream of days when she had loved me. When I could have awoken her and talked the night long with her. Nights when I could have kissed her or held her, moments when I could have touched her skin and felt its warmth. But no those days were over they had ended. I could never get them back my happiness was dwindling, and it felt like I dwindled each day with it.

I finally made a decision, I decided to quit work I could no longer juggle school, work, M, and MS. I needed a break from something if any of it was going to continue. I knew my marriage was the most important thing to me, and that as long as I worked and went to school, I could not hope to dedicate enough time to “us.” I turned in a letter of resignation and my employer made it clear he understood, and that if I ever wanted to come back he would keep a place for me. I began to prepare for a cut back year of school, so that M and I could spend time together.

I was ready to work on my marriage; I was ready to work on my health. I knew that I loved M and she (had once) loved me. I talked to her, and tried to pick things that we could do together, be she never wanted to do anything. She got a job so that I could no longer bother her about doing something. She convinced herself of us being a failure, and nothing I could do was going to ruin it for her. I tried because I loved her, but I guess my love was not enough, our marriage needed hers as well, and hers was dead.

She waited though to come right out and tell me until she got her citizenship. For this reason I will always think of her as a whore. She knew in France that she loved me no more; she even fell in love with a man she met there. He had been from Hungary and she believed she wanted to love him back. The fact is she knew, and she tried to hide it, until she could get her certificate of citizenship. She continued to tell me that she wanted to work it out, and love me, until the day after her ceremony that day she told me how she really felt. All my attempts to save our marriage where ruined.

My attempts where ruined when that day she told me that her friends refused to be friends with her because of me. That they all treated her like “a married woman” because of me, and she did not want that. She wanted them to treat her like a free and single woman who could do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted. She told me she wanted me to move into one of the other rooms until she could move out because I was burden on her life. I was for her no longer a person but a burden, our dogs, our home, our life was a burden; and she would be a free woman. She would leave me with over $2000 a month in bills and no job; so that she could escape the burden of life I had placed on her by getting an illness. And she did not even think my illness was as bad as it was, she only believed that it was a minor “MS-like” thing which would run its course. She told me she was in love with someone she had meet in France, and that she was going to go visit him as soon as a break in school came around. She told me a lot, but I was in too much pain to hear it all; I was crushed, destroyed, hollow. I could not get up or set down; I was alone, divorced from the world and myself. I was “a burden to her life,” and my own life was pain. The one person in my life that I had always believed I could count on no matter what, the one person I thought would love me no matter what; she had proven that I could not count on her, and she did not love me. I had supported her since the day I met her, but I could never expect the same in return. And yet I could not hate her only love her, and no matter what I say in this book or anywhere else I still love her; that is my greatest pain. I love her, but I am only a burden to her.


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What it Feels like to be a Burden

She told me I was burden, but she still did not move out. She did not support me financially, emotionally, or physically; I did support her financially, emotionally and physically; but still I am the burden. I was moved into a different room, a separate room. M did some back tracking by saying she wanted to work things out, but this included me not hanging out with her at all. She was tired of all the men she met treating her like a married woman, when she wanted them to treat her like a single woman. She was shocked and saddened when I told her that I would not work things out if she were attempting to attract other men. I told her I was fine with her hanging out on her own and having her own friends, but if she was attempting to attract other men I could not handle that. She would grow upset each time we had this conversation, and end it by telling me I was a becoming a burden emotionally just as I was already becoming physically. My problem was that I was just too in love. I could not imagine that she was really not in love with me anymore, and I accepted all she told me like a dog. I convinced myself that one day she would realize she still loved me, and all I had to do is be supportive and wait. I was as stupid as she was cruel.

I was alone while she was so close. Everyday I wanted to touch her or talk to her, and she was right there. But she was so far away. She was unhappy, burdened by my presence, and was unhappy, hollowed by her failure to care. I hid my symptoms; I wanted her back, but not through pity. I believed she would remember her love for me, and then I could talk to her about my problems. But until then, I did not want to wonder if she had come back to me because of pity or love. I told her only those things which I could not hide from her, those things which inhibited me enough that they needed an explanation. The irony is that she was so busy looking for other men I could have been drowning in front of her and she would not have seen, in a way I was.

She told me that she never actually dated or slept with anyone else yet, but it was obvious that she was looking. Her friends and my friends began to mention it; they began to ask me why I stayed with her. I did not know what to say then, I still do not. I love her, is the only answer that I have. It sounds hollow to me now, it sounded hollow to me then; and yet it is that which has always driven me to accept anything from her. Love is not intelligent, it does not think about what it should do. I stayed with a woman who constantly told me how horrible I was at everything, how bad I was in every way. Yet there have been people who stayed with spouses that beat them or worse; so neither my love nor theirs bothered to think about what was the right thing to do. All our love does is blind us to the faults of those we love, and bind us to them. It does not screen out those that are harmful to us, and those that are not. Love, for me, has caused nothing but pain.

During this time I learned of something called fatigue. I began to feel dead after arguing with M, after just thinking about our situation. I also began to feel fatigue as I walked around town. I found it was too hard to think straight at times, because I was so fatigued. It is not the same as being tired or sore. It is as if your whole body has forgotten to wake up. It is a dull feeling that deadens the sensation of touch, and the drive to live. Someone will ask what I want to do, and the answer will be nothing. My eyes want to close, and my mind wants to stagnate. My whole body feels heavy and even the itch at the back of my neck is deadened. Lifting my arm or kicking up my leg is not only a bother, but it is hard, if not impossible. I feel weak, but not in the form of lack of strength, but increased resistance against my attempts to move or stretch. That is all I have is that resistance, but it is not like being sore, or stiff, the body still feels fluid; but the lack of mobility is added to it. Like going from a willow tree to an oak.

I also began to experience emotional turmoil in a way I never knew it could exist. I spoke of lability earlier, but now it jumped into overdrive. I have always been proud of having control over my emotional being, and my mental thought processes. But if anything can prove to me that my individuality was a conglomeration of separate things and not some eternal essence this was enough. It is an inability to know if my emotions where mine, or just my brain jumping on a roller coaster. I have learned now to kind of tell because I start to get edgy, as if I just ate a candy bar. But that energy is just my emotions preparing to flood out into my life. Then I did not know how to see this coming, I could not even guess about when the emotions I was feeling where based on reality and when they where just random explosions of thought. I learned hate, real tangible hate; all my emotions became tangible to me, I could reach in and feel them learn them; but never control them.

M approached me in this time with a dream she had. It included her, her friend S, and me. She told me that it was the most erotic dream she had ever had. She told me that it had made her want me again, but only if sex included S. She wanted to try a threesome, and if I agreed she told me that it might warm her toward me again. I did not think that during our problems we should be experimenting with sexual situations, and I told her this. But she told me that if I did not agree she would leave, but if I agreed she would stay with me and we could try to work things out. M and I had been very experimental in all of our lovemaking, and things like this had never bothered me when our relationship was still strong, but I feared that while weak it might be too much. But I was in love, and M claimed it was the only way I could hold onto her.

M and S had been lovers before, and so M knew that S would be interested. She said that though she did not care for S she knew that S loved her, and so she would consent. S had always been obsessed with M; she did everything that M wanted her to do. S had always felt insecure around me as M’s husband and she had always tried to tell M to leave me for her. I feared this would give her more room to talk. I did not know what to do, but I was willing to do anything to get M to care for me again. I realize now that I was as manipulated as S was into thinking that M could love me. I wonder now if M laughs about my love and me as much as she used to laugh about S and hers. Still I consented.


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What it feels like 2

M set it up for S to come over and hangout with us a lot more, and one night while drinking, the two kept flirting and talking about sex. S stepped outside to smoke, and M told me that before S left she wanted to watch me have anal sex with S. S had never had sex in this way, but M had always enjoyed it more then regular sex and she wanted to watch it done to someone else. S really wanted to try it and so we consented. When S came back in they continued to flirt and then decided to do more then talk. They wanted to make a game of it. They wrote body parts, our names, and sexual actions down on paper. They then put each in a different hat and we drew. We kept drawing until they were satisfied with all that we had done. M told me that I still needed to give her the show she wanted with S, but both S and I where to tired. S went home, without M getting her show. M was upset that she had not gotten what she fully wanted, and we went to bed uncomfortable. I felt used and uncomfortable, I would have jumped at this chance if it would have been all of us desiring it and seeking it. But it had not been it had been M manipulating S and I as mere tools for her pleasure, and I began to realize this.

The next day M told me that S was moving in, and she would get her show. I told her that I was uncomfortable with that, but she told me that either S would move in or M would move out. I need M, and I consented. S though had her own plans, and she did not want to move in. M was again upset that she did not get her way, and she took it out on me. She told me that I was a prison of flesh that she could no longer stand. She wanted other men and women, and I was just a burden getting in her way. She moved out, and moved in with S. S though did not spend as much time with M as M wanted, and her cats kept bothering M. So M moved back in with me but only to sleep on the coach. She tore me apart by everything that had happened. I loved M, I wanted only for her to love me and stay with me, but she could not. She told me that she was going to date other people and be free, and nothing I could do or say would change that. She would not love a man would one day become a cripple. So in a moment of lucidity I told her to move out.

She did, to my eternal pain she did. She found three people who needed a roommate to fill their room. She told me nothing but negative things about each of them, but since I knew one of the girls, I also knew that M was just being negative. I lived alone, and in pain. I did not know what to do, because without M I felt hollow. I only felt filled when I was with her, talked to her, or thought of her. I was pain and loneliness. M never cared, and I think now there was no reason for her too. She had gotten her freedom, and nothing else mattered. I was nothing to her, so why should I have expected her to care about my pain.

I could not move on. My pain, my loneliness, my illness. Everything in my life pushed me to end it. I could not picture myself going on. Nothing in my life seemed to have any importance. All of our future plans, all of our talks, our imagined children. It had all been nothing but playtime or pretend for M. Everything I had built my life on for seven years was nothing to her. I had fooled myself into thinking that she really had meant what she had said all those times she told me our love was eternal. I had lied to myself along with her about our future life together. I was pain; I was alone in my pain. I decided to end it, rather then continue waiting for death to take me. I could stand the wait no longer.


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Living and Dying with the Goddess Part 1

Sometimes I wonder why I am still kicking at the whole survival game. Few things make sense to me especially in times of sorrow, and loneliness. Even with friends around me I am alone, because they do not fully understand the pain of standing against a future of becoming burden. Sure all people know that someday they will be old and withered, that they will become a burden upon their children, for the last years of their life, but that is not the same as being told that you will be a burden long before you ever get the chance to grow old. I will one day be blind, not from old age, not from some stupid act of my own, but because of nature, because of how nature created me. The destiny I must face and others like me, we are the essence of frustration. No one can help us, no one can understand us, and no one can explain why or how this thing in our bodies is ruining us. It does not even have the courtesy to kill us, but leaves that up to us to try. It is a gutless thing that takes our abilities and leaves us cripples to face the pity that the world has to offer. My wife, my love, my dearest, decided to leave me face the world alone, she had decided that I was no longer a good investment, that I was a burden, so I had no shoulder to turn to, and ask the sanity of my decisions. I did not need her though, I knew that the she did not love me, and that my body would no longer obey me, hell I even knew that some days my emotions were not mine. I knew that nothing stood in front of me in life, and nothing stood behind me, so I must stand alone to end my emptiness.

There is a rope I have, I had to look on the internet to figure out how to tie it, but once I had it tied I was pretty sure that it could assist me in insuring that I would never be a cripple. I could not do it in my home though, where would I tie it, what would people think when they found me? No, I would do it outside, in the woods that I loved as a child. I gathered what I would need, and what I would want with me afterwards. An ironic thing that thought, that I would take things I wanted afterward, what use anything would be to a dead man, but none the less I took them. I took a picture book filled with images of my wife who I love so dearly; I took my wedding ring and put it on; and some trinkets that my friend D gave me. My pockets filled my rope stashed I took a drive.

There is a little town out side of the city I live in, and trees abound. I have been blessed with growing up in such a beautiful area, so full of life and scenery. I found a nice secluded back road, and began my hike to the top of the hill I had chosen. The darkness of night seemed to intensify the sights and sounds of the woods I felt so at home in. The very life of everything around me leaped out and smacked me in the face. My feet crunched snow and mud; my hands brushed sticks and needles. What life this forest had. Can I explain what it was like this walk of beauty and interest? The taste of the night air as I breathed it, how crisp life seemed then, how drained, how pleasant. I felt vibrancy fill me, and I knew I was doing the right thing.

The tree I choose was tall with long branches sticking out in all directions. It was deciduous tree surrounded by evergreens. It looked and felt sturdy, and I smiled to think of it. I had a hell of a time climbing it, not having climbed trees since I was a child. But the act was fun as well as hard. I could glory in the scratches in my hands and the biting of the bark as I reached for a higher branch and pulled myself up. I could enjoy each moment for what it was, life. When I had climbed around fifteen feet off the ground I sat upon my branch and began to tie my rope to the tree. I knew it had to be out a ways, but not so far out the branch would snap. I wanted to avoid striking the tree in my fall, but I wanted to avoid striking the ground as well. So I tested the branch by standing on it and bouncing. It felt sturdy and so I felt pleased with the tree and my ability to find it.

The rope of course went over my head and hung from my neck, as I stood on the branch staring up into the sky laid bare above me. Each star seemed to twinkle in the frozen sky. How much a frozen sky looks different from a warm one. The cold seems to make everything seem clearer seem more alive and intense. Cold textures leap out at the skin, and cold images seem to sear themselves into the sight of the observer. I wonder though if it is the cold image, or the cold eye, that makes the world more alive, more vibrant. The sky though on that night, I can still set here and see it, as if I was still there. I stood on the branch supporting myself with a branch above me. The sky surrounded me. I was motionless among a heaven of light and dark. The black of the sky melted into the blue of the horizon. What pain that image is, that light and dark dancing among each other, playing around me and above me.

I waited though for the moon to ascend the mountains of my homeland. And when it did, it was torch of gray reaching out for me, reaching out for the world, and the world reached back. Every tree and rock reached for the moon, as if to grasp at it and hold it tight. But the moon kept climbing away from horizon farther and farther away from the grasping hands bellow. Like a wife that no longer loves her husband. I felt the rope with one hand to make sure it was still there, to make sure that I was not living in a dream. I stared at the sky and let the image of the moon seep into me as I leaned back, leaned into the arms of my lover the night.

Freefall is such an odd thing. It terrifies and exhilarates at the same time. Fingers dance up and down the spine as the body realizes nothing is going to catch it. Cool air brushes along the hair and arms as the body begins to give up its control. Are those goose bumps for fear or excitement, what causes the world to slow to a crumbling stop as the world begins to tip and twirl? What is this life we lead, and how should it end? The opening act of falling back opens the mind to a thousand things it has forgotten, and it is experiencing. There is nothing like the knowledge that one is about to fall into death, it awakens the sense. Each sense fights over who can supply the most information. At any other time the brain would go into overload and shut down, but in that moment as your body starts to fall, all this sensation is not only crashing in, but also experienced as it is, the world of particulars finally experienced and known as it truly is. It is as if something pulls aside all the middle-man bullshit our perceptions do, not violently, not suddenly, but it just goes away. It is not something that one can express, or explain, just felt, only experienced. I do it an injustice by using words, the generalities of our thought, to attempt explaining it.

Where am I though? On a tree branch far above the ground, the sky open before me, the air freezing and refreshing, the world alive around me. So alive, so alive. Can you imagine me standing there, falling backward so slow, my arms out trying to catch the moon, while the rope around my neck hangs loosely along my back. The rope is almost not even there, I am alive, in my discovery of death. I am at the beginning of my freefall, my self hanging. And the sight around me is the beautiful, as beautiful as life can ever hope to be. I drown in the beauty as I hang in the ugliness. As I have said I fall, the sheer amount of crawling fingers on my back and neck are enough to make me go crazy. Even now as I pray for the rope to snap, for my neck to follow suit, I feel the rope tighten along my neck. I am falling backward, and my head falls faster then my feet.

What about inversion, hanging upside down as a rope tightens around your neck, feeling as the rope goes tight, and your air intake stop completely. The legs of course catch upon the rope. The swift flip around never happens as it should have. The rope grows even tighter, but sadly the snap never comes, and you are literally unable to catch a break. There is nothing for the arms to grasp at so they hang, the feet cannot kick because the entangled in the rope far above your head. And then you see it, your life, and the way some 10 year old kid will find you. You will be hanging upside down, your face both suffused with blood and free of oxygen. How will that face look, blue? Red? It will not matter to me, but the child might be scared, scared at such a funny sight.

There is a thing within me, a thing which awakens as I come nearer to death. What is this thing, which opens, and allows me to see the world in ways I should not be allowed to see it? Why do things feel different as death closes around my throat, and my head stops thinking? The world both dims and brightens at once, and the oxygen I need to live disappears. Some strange part of my body attempts to breath, but the rope keeps that from happening. I know death comes clear, but as the last light of the world begins to fade, D stands bellow me. He is as real as the trees and cloth around me. He is in fact more real then anything else around me. I stare into his eyes, and he tells me that my time is still a ways off. He tells me that She still has use for me, that I still have use. I ask what bitch he was talking about, what whore would have use for a broken man, for damaged property. I asked him though I had no voice to speak, no breath to breath, but he heard me, and he smiled. He smiled at what I was soon discover was blasphemy. He smiled and I smiled back, I asked him who She was that had a use for me, no woman alive did any longer.


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And She held me. She held me with an embrace so warm, and a touch so soothing, that there was nothing I could do but lay in Her enclosure. D was gone, leaving Her and me together. I could feel Her eyes upon me, upon my body, my soul; my very being was Hers to experience. If I had thought that freefall had shown me what it was like to be alive, this proved me wrong. She held me, She kept me safe, and I knew I was no longer in my body, and I was free with Her. But I could not stay in this paradise She wanted me alive. Ripped from this heaven; torn from my desire, as the ground slammed into my body.

So long, to short, the experience was. I cry still to think of it, to want it. But She did not need me there She needed me here. I neither knew why, nor did I wonder. The cold mud and snow subsumed me, the roots of the tree dug at me. I felt pain; I felt resentment, felt the burden of my life, and the burden of Her. She was my weight, my new master. I laughed then as that thought entered me, I laughed because what master was so cruel that they expected their commands to be met, but never told the slave what the commands where; only told them to live. I drank deeply of my pain, laying there along the ground, how long I lay, I do not know, but I lay alone. Both D and She had gone.

Eventually life forced me to get up, and move. The pain of my body, how unpleasant. It was not some earth shattering thing, which envelops ones life; it was the everyday pain of a bad fall, and a sore throat. It is ironic that all these little pains exist through out our life; but, huh, we never experience them. We play them down, and move on. It is only the pain of something so great that we cannot understand it that we attempt to experience and explain. Ironic isn’t it, something like MS covers one in to confusion and despair I cannot even begin to place into words. This I attempt to explain. Divorce I speak of, the pain of love unreturned, love pushed away. The things we write about, the things that we cannot put into words. But the little pain, the little deaths throughout our life, the little unpleasantiries that we sweep away. They are the pains that we can combat, and they are the ones that give us hope for a new beginning.


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Where am I

I tried for a long time to meditate, to find my True Self. I closed my eyes and sat in lotus position trying to sink within, trying to find that which is the essence of my being. I had a problem though, each time I closed my eyes I would feel an itch in the back of my neck, a strain in my legs, my mind would race, ideas and emotions would refuse to stop, I was blinded by the parts so that I could not see the core. I tried meditation lying down and I just started to fall asleep. I was attempting to peel the onion of myself, trying to reach a central core, but the more I peeled, the more peels remained. I tried to shake it off, nothing would work, When I cleared my mind all I found was an empty mind, all I found was nothing, and it bored me enough that my body started to think, started to show me discomfort. Then one day, as I sat trying to clear my mind and understand my True Self, my essence, I was bombarded by emotion, by all the bodily discomforts that come from setting in lotus for to long. I found all my thoughts, I could not see behind them, and it hit me. I could not see behind them because there was nothing behind them to see.

My body was made up of parts; penis, legs, arms, head, etc. There was no central core to my body, that which was irreplaceable (esp. with modern science). I could lose a limb, replace an organ, cut my hair, clip my nails and still be a person. And my mind was no different, it was a conglomeration of parts; thoughts, ideas, emotions, fantasies, perceptions, etc. There was no core, no essence that I could call my own, I was soulless. Nothing within me was irreplaceable; I could go from liberal to conservative, happy to sad, I could lose a memory or idea and still be a person. I found within myself only an ever changing river, a torrent at times, a meander in others, but filled with constant change. I have heard that the universe started out as “watery/windy chaos” and it seems so right, so correct. I think though that we never left this chaos, we are still living within it, living as part of it. This chaos of parts, each making up little wholes, within the larger whole. Looking for the “I” within me was over thinking the whole process, “I” was the combination of my parts.

If you lose certain memories you will not be the same person as before. And this I must agree with, just as if I lose a hand I am no longer the same as before, just as if I changed my mind, converted to Christianity I would no longer be the same person. I am a river of change, and it is this which allows me to argue my point, allows me to grow and change, to cast off my old skins and realize that the onion has no core, it is peels all the way down. If I believed in an “I” that rested within me, a True Self of which I must face the world from, I think that I would stop talking or arguing altogether. Why would it matter if I changed your mind, because I would not be changing your True Mind. It would be incapable of change, because it would be the irreducible, the irreplaceable, the essence that could not be messed with, only found. What would be the point of arguing with that, it would not (could not) even blink in recognition that I was there.

But if you are only parts, there is no real you, you are empty of any lasting self. First I will agree with the idea that I am empty of any lasting self. My selfhood relies on no foundational substance to give it life, it rests on the sands of the past and present. The idea that there is not a real me is interesting though. I use words like “I” and “me” but is this nonsense? I would say not, because just as a body is a conglomeration of parts, from limbs to atoms, we still think of it as a whole, a whole that is merely made up of parts. My mind is the same, it is merely a sum of its parts, and it needs nothing else to create it. It needs no essence, no True Self to rest upon. I think that when Wittgenstein told philosophers to “stop thinking and look,” he was talking about more then language. Those who claim that there must be something, some irreplaceable or irreducible thing need only look to science to find just the opposite. Everything is eventually reducible in the world, reducible to parts; and all of those parts are eventually replaceable or removable. And yet we exist we experience a world of wholes, even though there is only a world of parts. The atom can claim no more real existence then I if reducibility is a gauge of real existence.

But the parts must rest upon something. Someone or something must be experiencing, causing, or being effected by all of this. This is an argument given time and time again for the soul. The Buddha’s idea of five skandas seem to answer this question. A person can be a self, and have that self be made up of many inessential parts. I am interested in finding that part that someone can point to and say this is what all else rests upon. I say this because if all things need to rest upon something, what then does that which they rest, rest upon. For it must be something for other things to rest upon it, and with the above logic all ‘somethings’ must rest upon something. This question can also be answered by looking at how things rest upon other things. Each inessential part relies on each other part for its current state. If one part is lost or gained then the other parts must change to accommodate this. Through this accommodation the world grows and changes. Each thing relies on each other thing, as each present relies on the past before it.

A person then is total change; their minds, their bodies, everything about them are changeable. We can all shape ourselves into what we want, because there is no ‘us,’ per say. ‘I’ is not a holistic thing, but a conglomeration. I think this constant change (todo cambia) should have been kept in the front of my mind through out, but as with everything I forget. I am weak at times, and my calling is perhaps a mistake, but I was called so I must answer. There is time in our life to find these mistakes and improve, I am only glad that I learned many of them young. Of course I thought that my essence was all I had, and so I attempted not only once but twice to die, and both times I was saved, the Goddess is found me with nothing, and gave of herself so that I might have her alone to live for.


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Living and Dying with the Goddess Part 2

I was complacent for the next week. I lived it on my coach, trying to make sense of what I had experienced. The trip out of the woods had taught me little, and it had been a blur. The walk in was clear, the failed hanging was clear. My hallucinations about D and Her were clear. But the length of time I lay upon the ground, and the walk to the car where covered in fog. A merciful fog, that kept me confused and disoriented. My car was dark. My coach was comfortable. It kept me from trying again for one week, but then I had convinced myself that the failure was my own and the rest was hallucination. So I tried again. But I realized that hanging was not how I wanted someone to find me. I did not want my family to wonder why and how, or to feel responsible for my death. I sat down to write a letter to my wife. She who had helped to drive me to this pain. I did not want her to suffer by my death, so I let her know I was at peace with her decision. I include here the letter I wrote and left on my desk, for her to find. She has not read this letter since I did not perish, so she will be reading here for the first time along with everyone else (assuming she bothers to read my book). After the letter I will attempt to explain my second failure to die.


When you first moved out I was so angry. I wanted you to die or suffer in someway, but that is over now. Now I accept that you need to live a life without me. You need to be free to live your life as you want, without me holding you back. As you said, life with me is only a burden. I guess you were correct, because I find my life to be a burden as well. So what I am saying is that you where right, I am nothing but sadness, all I have put in your life and mine are pain. There is too much pain in a life as it is without me adding to yours, so I have given you the gift of freedom from pain caused by me. I know that you will be sad after this, and that you will feel a great amount of pain, but you will get over it, just as you got over our marriage. You have the ability to move on; I do not, not while I am alive.

I cannot stand to live like this; every time I hear a car, I both hope and fear it is you. The phone rings or messenger tells me I have an email, and I pray that it is from you. I have no power to be anything, without you. I have no goal no life without you by my side. I cannot even end it. I tried, and the branches are not strong enough to hold my weight, so all I got was a sore throat. I will try again, and if you are reading this then I succeeded, everything is now yours, even your freedom. This is the only way that I can leave you alone, the only way that the pain will not surround me. It is just too hard to be alone, and alone is what I am. I do not want your pity, or your confusion to hold you back any more.

I do not understand how your love left, I do not understand why your vows seems to be nothing to you, but that is my problem and not yours. I do not want you to be angry with me that I am leaving everything to you, I know you do not want the house and stuff, but there is little I can do about that. I know also that people will blame you for what I have done (perhaps rightly so) but ignore them, you need to live your life and be happy. Please do not think badly of me for this, or the place I am putting you. It is unavoidable. I cannot stand this loneliness, and there is little else I can do to change it. I cannot make you love me, and I cannot end my own love, so I must end what I can.

I ask only that you find [our dog] a good home before you move on with your life. She has been loving and kind to me during this time, and I do not want her just given to whomever. She deserves better then that, and if nothing else please do this one thing for me.
You’re Loving Husband,

I hope you understand the letter as my last words, hoping to limit the pain caused by my passing, but if you do not that is fine, I will move on to the attempted passing.

I had thought deeply about my earlier failure, it was a hopeless problem. I had obviously not been able to find a branch strong enough to take my weight. I had ended the night with a bruised body and a sore throat. Not quiet the end I had hoped. I would then have to find a new way to end my life. Something more assured, harder to mess up, and something that would not necessitate that those who found me would think I had ended my own life. In this way, only M, who would read the letter, would know. And she could then decide what to tell other people. She would have more insurance options then, and she could use the money to improve her present conditions. It is funny that MS and M had driven me to attempt suicide, but I was doing it in a way that the insurance might still pay the policy. It is funny to me, because the money would go to M and the doctors who diagnosed me.

Well I must be moving on to the method and madness of my plan. It consisted of The beautiful Lake C where I loved to swim as a child, and loved to take polar dips in as a teenager. I would combine this with fishing, something my father had always taken me to do as a child. The memories of those good times, made my plan seem comforting and happy. I had a small ice fishing rod that I took. Another funny thing was the drive. Lake C was at least an hour drive away, but that is the lake I wanted.

It was a strange drive through the night. I kept thinking someone was in the back of the car, and I could not strain well enough to see the whole back seat. Shadows along the window spelled out a man, and the shape of his rotted old hand loomed above me. I knew there was some kind of spirit with me, and the back of my neck crawled with each attempt of mine to look back. What is this night terror that rides with one as they drive alone at night? This shadow of fear which will not let one travel alone. I know not what it is, but it stayed with me for the trip; it lurked around the shadows of my car, as I traveled to die.

The lake was beautiful, it always has been. Cottonwood showed me its beauties and feed me its sites. I could drink in its soft glassy surface for days, and watch the waves force the seaweed to dance. So soft was that dance along the shores, cold seaweed making spirals and circles around the waves. The grass and brush covered the shore, not like the sandy beaches you see on TV that create a ramp into the water. No, these beaches where grass banks, that curved into to the waves, so that one would have to climb out. The trees rose majestically above the water and land, their tops dancing with the wind. The bigger trees held ropes and swings that people used to play Tarzan and swing into the water. Their green leafs splayed out in the star light catching a hint of that glow, the moon shown from the pine needles. This was a world of sights and sounds, a world that can be found anywhere in the world, but is still only found here.

I stood looking out at this world, as I tested the ice, to see if it was strong enough for my weight. I walked out along it, the winter had been extremely warm, and the thin ice cracked and whined under my weight. I knew it would not hold me for long, so I walked slowly, but purposefully toward the lake’s center. I felt alive with the wind blowing against me. I felt the world alive to my touch. Nothing within sight hid from me. And the night time colors showed brightly in my mind.

I dropped my fishing pole and removed my coat. I suddenly wanted to feel the wind against my skin. I pulled my shirt over my head and caste it aside. A steady line of clothes followed me as the ice began to crack. I kicked off my shoes, and pulled at my socks, and the ice would not hold. The water that washed over me was sudden and freezing. It tore away the comfort setting of my skin, and seared the nerves with cold. The air rushed out of me as the water covered my face, and I could feel my scalp come alive and die under the cold. My eyelids clamped around my eyes, and their sensitive skin awoke from their normally dull existence.


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ldwgp2 cont...

I awoke in that moment; awoke to everything that I am each fiber of my being; each cell was alive with the cold. Nothing I did would pull me from the waves and nothing I said would warm my body. I pulled off my last sock, and the rest of my clothes. I wanted nothing to be between my water and me. As I took of my brown watch, I noticed the time was 9pm I wonder what time it would be when I died, and let the watch drop. I lay upon the water, my face gazing up at the sky, while the chest bobbed among the waves. My arms floated out to my sides, splayed out like a crucified man. My legs sank bellow the waves and floated there, wandering one direction and the then another. I was nothing but a floating piece of flesh. The cold water was warm compared to the freezing wind, and shards of ice would bump me as the waves pushed me around. The water line along my body, was alive and the world of above and below fought over who would get how much. I connected with my body, and every inch of it was mine to feel. Brief overloads of sensory input drug my mind from sanity. I could do nothing but stare at the moon, and feel my body.

How long I lay like this, I do not know, the world was there and gone, gone and there. I floated, until I felt something warm along my feet, first one toe and then another. The warmth floated with me and slowly crept up my foot. My finger tips where next and it crawled toward the knuckles. My body was to cold and stiff to move, but slowly the heat began to move along me. I stared up at the moon, and its light was touching my face. I realized that its light was the source of heat, and the warmth of it energy danced along my face. My body slowly warmed, as the energy from my four extremities meet along my trunk, and the warmth of my face slide down through my neck. I wondered if was dead, and this was my spirit feeling the touch of the moon, as I prepared for the Summerland. I did not know, nor did I think very coherently. My mind hand slowed with the rest of my body, and only fragments danced around my mind. I felt Her looking at me.

The water was gone; the cold was gone. Only I remained floating in space, in pale moon light. Only I existed as an individual, and She surrounded me. She was the air that held me up, and the current that drug me around. I was within Her, and of Her. She was the world that I now floated within. The warmth was gone and a searing heat replaced it. I began to scream, at the pain, but She cared not. I could feel a gaze upon me that watched from every point at once. I lay naked within the sky of Her, and She studied me. I felt like a babe, in the womb, but this womb was pain. Her heat was searing, especially after the water.

I could feel Her forming around me, like a pooling of moonlight; first, Her outline, followed by features and details. She formed in front of me, as naked as I. Her hair fell toward me and danced along my skin. Her hands reached out and grasped my neck pulling me closer, and holding me gently against Her. Her touch was soft, soothing, yet it burned. I felt safer and within more danger, then I had ever felt in my life. Both extremes pulled me, but I lay within Her mothering arms. She seemed to shush me as one would a child. She spoke; if I had imagined Her power before it she now confirmed it. Her words where aware, the fell from her mouth and spiraled toward my ear, changing ever so slightly for my understanding.

I felt Her as a mother and a lover, something to strive for, and something to fear. She was unchained passion and energy. The energy that is not feminine or masculine, She goes beyond both, and is sheer emotion, impulse, primitive passion, and loving motherhood. I could feel Her love for me, Her desire to mother me and care for me. I could taste Her hate for me, Her want to rip apart my skin and drink down my blood. I could feel Her desire for me in Her touch, the touch of a passionate lover, wanting my touch in return. I could feel this energy from Her, and I felt safe, afraid, and aroused. I felt terrified of displeasing her.

“My boy, I told you to live. I have saved you once from yourself, and you were to be MINE upon the world. But you do this to ME; rob ME of MY property. I have no use for you dead. I have use for you only as alive. I will not save you this time; I leave it up to you to save yourself. But remember, you are MY property, and if you die, I will be unpleasant with you. So fight to live, and do not try to die again.”

“What am I to you, why will you not keep me here?”

“You are MY child, My tool. Do not disappoint me.”

“But what am I to do, how am I to be your tool?”

“By being MINE.”

The water was cold, as it rushed in around me, I felt half dead, and my body was too stiff to move. I realized that I had swallowed large amounts of water, and that the shore was still a ways away. The moon though was down, and the first morning light was worming its way in. I turned toward where I thought I had entered the water, and began to swim towards it. My arms and legs ached with the effort of movement, and the cold attempted to hold me in place. I made steady progress though, and by the time the sun was up, I had reached solid ice. I grabbed at it, and pulled on it, but my body would not slide up it. My hands stopped bending, and my chest grew numb, but I could get no purchase.

I laughed aloud that my attempted suicide would defeat my attempted mind change. That I would die and She could do nothing to stop it, that this time, I had defeated even the fate She sought for me. I slide into the water as laughter and tears struck me. My wracked itself with giggles, and I began to choke on water. Spitting it out and spluttering my way around, I began to cough.

“I cannot get up on the ice, so I guess the bitch will have to be disappointed.”

And warmth encircled my left foot. It felt like Her pulling at me. I reached out along the ice and scrambled, kicked, pulled, panted and bleed, but in the end I was upon the ice. It dug into my back, and solidified my blood. I turned and dragged myself along the ice toward shore. It burned and scraped at my body. My hair was stiff and immobile. I reached the shore though, and pulled myself up. I crawled and walked to my car. Luckily I had left my keys in the ignition, and not in my coat. I turned the heat on full blast and sat there upon my seat, dripping wet, cold, as hot air began to make my skin tingle uncomfortably. The sun shown down into the car, and its rays felt burning, and I lay back and dozed. The car said that it was 8am when I awoke. The sun was higher in the sky, but not by much. I rolled my muscles and joints to get feeling and movement back into them. I put the far into drive and headed home.

I was luckily that nobody stopped me, and that my car had a half a tank. I could not imagine attempting to explain to an officer or gas station clerk that my clothes where at the bottom of the lake. Perhaps someone was watching out for me, but then again perhaps life had just assumed I had suffered enough for now.


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The Pain of Divorce and Forgiveness

M wanted us to be friends, to hang out and be buddies, but that could never be. I could not take the pain of seeing her, and knowing that she no longer loved me, that she might one day decide she loved another. The pain of such thoughts, and such things was unbearable. What could I do, she had decided to move out long before. She had decided that we could never be together. I could not understand how someone who had claimed to love me could then be so callus. I could not understand what was going on, and it was killing me. Emotional stress was eating me from within and without. I could not go a night with sorrow keeping me awake. It was a weight upon me, this day after day without her touch. All I wanted was for her to place her hand upon my cheek and tell me that it would all be ok, but she never would.

Each meeting we held had taken its toll on me mentally, and it seemed physically. It ended the most important weapon I had against my disease, the desire to overcome it, and be stronger then it could be. I had already decided to die, partly because of my illness, but mainly because of my loneliness. My illness intensified the loneliness, and there was no ending it. I loved, so much; I still love her, so much. What a pitiful wretch I am, to know she has manipulated me, left me, called me a burden, cheated on me. She had done so much, and yet I still love her. How could I stop, this love that is complete within me, but broken within the world. She did not return, would I cannot help but give. I know that I have greater problems with my MS, but it seems at times that it is merely a footnote to my wife’s betrayal. I think of it as a footnote because MS might have left me scared and filled with hatred for my condition, a repugnance to the illness that has led me to desire to overcome it, and out survive it. But M I cannot hate, I cannot desire to overcome her, or defeat her. What she has done leaves me dead inside, empty and hollow. An echo of my own love fills every fiber of my being, but that is all it is an echo falling on deaf ears.

Her ears will have chosen to ignore my call; she has chosen not to answer my love. Today kills me, because it is a day I will not know the softness of her lips, the touch of her breath. I am alone on days like this, and everyday is a day like this. If you have a lost love, true love, then you know what I mean. Each day becomes a torture, because they are not beside you. The blaring truth that they would rather be with another then stay with you. That they would rather be alone then be with you. The truth of reality, cuts into life, and rips out its heart. What is possible under that pain, that truth? Life cannot be lived; it is merely the body going through the motions. Each day the torture of true pain, my pain. The pain of love no longer returned.

This is what the neurologist labeled “emotional stress that could possibly be a determent to your physical situation.” It is funny how the little weasel used words like “physical situation,” he is a whore to his own words. I do not have a “physical situation.” I do not have a “degenerative neurological disorder.” I do not have an “issue,” I have a sentence, I was convicted, and that is what they should call it. They should use words that capture the feeling of this pain. But my marital situation was provoking my physical situation, and that had to stop. As I said, she was trying to be my “friend” and the pain of seeing her, but not being with her was tearing me apart. I was allowing her to rip out my insides and I could take it no more. I found that the more I saw of her without being able to love her, the more my symptoms seemed to desire an outlet. I decided that I could lessen both problems with one motion. I would stop fighting over the divorce, allow her whatever she desired from it, and then cut off all contact. I had been relying on her to help my deal with my pain, but she had not helped. The perceived failure had made the pain much worse, so I would remove my own ability to perceive the failure. I would face my fate, loneliness, illness, and unremitted love alone, I would face it all alone. My pain would be my pain, and I would find a way to deal with it alone. How else could I face it and survive in this world where you cannot trust any other to be your support.

Each day I awake knowing that I will not see her beauty that day. I will not touch her skin, or smell her scent; I will have nothing of her. She is lost to me, and so I am lost to myself. Love is not reason it is not intelligence. It is insanity, and drives us into a world of the greatest joys and worst sorrows. I had spiraled down because of my wife’s indifference. Perhaps if she could have supported me, in my pain and not avoided me, I could face this thing upon my feet. But she had not, and I had not so the Goddess owns me now. Perhaps the Goddess was jealous, and she had gotten my wife out of her way, but I think not. I think that no matter how much I wanted my wife to be a saint, she could not be. She could only be human, weak and selfish, like us all. So I would give her the gift she so desired, the gift of being set free. And in the process I would lift some of the pain from myself.

I was so angry with her, that she could live up to her own promises. That she had moved on, and that she expected that I could do the same. My anger burned so bright, that it filled me, it devoured my very being, it drove me to resentment, but it could not drive me to hate. I cannot be free, but I can limit the contact that drives me into depression and anger. I could stop the process that fed my turmoil. I could not stop my love, my pain, my sorrow, or my anger; but I could stop the meetings that increased it. I could remove the fuel, and I could then bring my sorrow down to a slow burn. A steady stream of sorrow, which I could manage.

I faced the divorce with sorrow and depression. I had thought that since she already had left me, and moved out, only the paperwork remained. I had thought it would not be that hard, since it was just signing forms, but I was wrong. I was wrong. I must say though that letting her go, did give us both one gift that otherwise was impossible. It gave us the gift of my forgiveness. I forgave her, and I no longer hold my anger, pain or sorrow, against her. I know that it is truly my problem, and so I hold no grudges, my forgiveness is complete. And this gift to her was also a gift to me. It is a burden lifted, no longer to have to hate the one you love. It is a gift to suffer alone, this lost love, and not have to blame the one who lost it. Blame does nothing but cause more pain, and there is no reason that I desire more pain, I have enough.


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Peak Experience

The next part will go over two experiences of my life that happened when I was a young man that have helped me to deal with life in my way. I might have lost my way here and there, and I might have forgotten some of the teachings that the world had taught me; but in the end it is these things which are helping me to deal and understand. She has given me what I have needed to embrace my life; I guess that it has just been my failure to do so that has caused my pain.

Methods may differ and traditions may change but an idea permeates cultures. That idea is peak experience, the idea that a sudden peak experience can open up the truth of self and its unity with the outer world. Many different cultures have described this experience and religious leaders and laymen alike seek after it. But the question remains what is it? Japanese Zen teacher D. T. Suzuki described it as “irrationality, intuitive insight, authoritativeness, affirmation, impersonal tone, sense of beyond, feeling of exaltation, and momentariness.”

Irrationality sounds odd when one looks at the rest of the list, but without the suspension of rationality a person would never be able to accept the peak experience for what it is. Peak experience is a foreign state and we have a hard time believing that it could be true, this total and sudden unity with the rest of the world. It is harder for a man to awaken from a dream if he never realizes that his current “real” is a far cry from “real.” The rational mind believes only what it sees, but a mind ready for peak experience must be able to step away from this which it sees and feels.

Peak experience is a unique feeling of unity with everything in the world. This feeling gives a person intuitive insight. Seeing the connection of every part no matter how small or big helps us to understand the universe in a way that would be impossible otherwise. Only after it is seen that we are all interconnected and the universe is as one can we began to really understand what is going on, only then does chaos begin to make sense. Note that it does not become order only that it becomes understandable.

With the deeper understanding of all that is around us, we gain authoritativeness. It is only natural that when people see how something works, they want to help others see it as well. They want to show people what they are doing wrong and what they need to correct. And once the people around the enlightened notice the improvement in their life, then the people seek them out for guidance. These things work together to give the enlightened an aura of authority. We turn to those who have completed the journey before to lead us along the path.

We affirm the teaching of our faith by reaching this state of peak experience. With the completion of the experience we naturally feel that we have searched for a meaning, and found something. Only if some part of that belief were true would we have found enlightenment. It is interesting that this process reaffirms the faiths of many ideals. Not only Buddhists search for this experience, but many Christians, Taoists, Hindus, and other lesser known religions. When members of one of the Native American religions dance for days on end during the Sun Dance, or when they go out alone to fast they are many times seeking this peak experience, even if it is termed in another way. When they find the understanding that they seek it affirms the beliefs that caused them to seek out the experience.

And yet how can peak experience affirm all these different belief sets? It holds an intrinsic impersonal tone that does not reveal the nature of any one religion, merely the nature of the universe as a whole. It does not prove or disprove any belief of god or gods. It reveals the truth of that which surrounds us, but not the ideals of any one faith. In fact most Buddhists believe the faith in a god or gods is unimportant in the reaching of peak experience, and some even claim it to be a hindrance of reaching the state of enlightenment.

Those who have felt it feel a sense of beyond once they reach peak experience. They have the sense of something more powerful and more real in the world than what can be seen or heard. Reality sets behind the protective layer we have formed for it. Peak experience helps us to pull this cover off even if only for a little while. Seeing beyond the cover helps us to see that which hides beyond our own current belief structure. And so it helps to affirm not only our belief, but it also helps to shape it into a more true view of the world.

When one feels the unity of the world there is a feeling of exaltation. Do not misunderstand the exaltation is not because a person is himself or herself special in the universe. The feeling stems from the sight that we are all interconnected, and this connection makes us part of the universe something easy to forget otherwise. Once one realizes that a person is a vital part of the universe then it is easy to see them as highly important. The world would change without each living thing. From the worm to the whale we all need to fulfill our part until that part has moved on. Each step of our lives is important even though it may not seem to affect greatly the world around us.

When we begin to see how the universe works, we begin to understand the length of time that it involves to create and destroy any one thing. The lives that we live are many times too short to shape the world around us into a perfect world. Peak experience helps us to live with this by giving what is termed momentariness. By living in the present and living in the world that we exist in, it is easier to shape the world around us. We need this vital understanding of the present, and the drive to improve the moment in order to realize a better future. Many people do not understand that the future is unimportant, because if we shape our now we will never have to worry about the then.


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Peak Experience cont...

I have talked about peak experience’s many aspects, but the main one I think I should mention is how it has affected my life. I can remember an experience that changed my life. I grew up as a half breed on the Reservation and like most kids on the Res. I was into drugs and the like. One day a friend of mine informed me that he had gotten some cacti that were supposed to be the greatest high that could be had with natural means. We went to his house and scarfed them down. There were four of us. We took them about in the late afternoon, but we each kept a small bag of them to help us keep the high for the whole night.

Sometime after dark set in I went for a walk, my friends could barely stand and most sat wrapped in their own thoughts. I doubt they noticed I had left until the next morning, I was drawn though something called for me. I followed the railroad tracks for quite sometime, hoping to see the lake from the top of the trestle. When I noticed that the morning light started to climb, I turned off the tracks and plunged into the darkness of the woods following a small creek. The moss enclosed my feet and after a short walk into the woods I decided to turn back. On my return trip I found a long shallow tunnel that I did not remember from the trip, but I was determined to find the railroad tracks.

I did not realize that the tunnel in fact traveled under the tracks, but thought that it was only an obstacle to reach my goal. I was afraid to travel into the darkness that enveloped me in the tunnel; but I felt the calling even louder, the gentle pulling of a woman’s hand. I took the last of my cacti hoping it would give me courage, or at least make me so high as not to notice the world. The memories of that tunnel haunt me today. I literally plunged through darkness watching the small light that lay ahead. If I had imagined or hallucinated the things I had seen or felt it made them no less real to me. I imagined a future of torment, blind and confused, hungry and alone. I wept as I saw the monsters around me.

Wet, tired, and terrified I stepped out of the other side. Morning had taken hold and the sun was finally more than a threat of light. I lay down along the bank of the creek and threw up. A powerful thirst took a hold of me and I turned to take a drink from the creek. When I saw the reflection of the world and the reflection of myself in that water I felt then peak experience hit me. The drug had worn down, and my night had ended, but this intense experience overcame me and my world changed. The fabric of my belief altered in a way that disintegrated my life and everything in it. It left me there alone and cold to put back the pieces that would never fit coherently again. A woman’s face stared at me from the water, and my own face superimposed upon hers stared as well. She showed me the way, kept me sane.

I can no more explain what the opening up of the creek looked like then I can explain what it feels like to see the world. I remember a movie I saw as a child where a man tried to show colors to a blind girl, by giving her something hot for red and something cold for blue. How inadequate an explanation that was, and I refuse to give an equally inadequate explanation for what I felt. I only hope that others can go through it and experience this wonderful awakening.

Monks and fanatics of a multitude of religions and belief systems search for an experience of peak experience. The experience is a sudden and momentary removal of a person’s own world-view and internal safeguards allowing them to see the world in a new form. This view of the world is more complete and more in depth than anything else experienced by the living mind. What I experienced was amazing, and without it I would not have been strong enough to here the words of my doctor and still stand. Without the reliance on the universe around me being what I feel it is, I would have folded, and lay upon the ground crying. As can be seen above it did not save me from the depression and pain caused, but I think that perhaps it buffered me a little. Does this give me hope that I will be cured or saved from my illness, because of this special experience. I think not, because anyone can share in this idealized state, and so because I had something special does not make me in fact special.

One thing it has lead me to attempt is to try and see my world, not through words or thoughts, but experience it completely and fully as it is. To perceive the world of particulars around me, without placing on it a false structure of value. I have never been able to master this for long periods of time, but I will always try and hopefully improve. Our world is chaos, and we must stop attempting to order it.


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all caught up

so most of these posts have been catching up to the present. I have at least two more historical posts that I will throw out there for people, but since I do not feel like writting them yet, they will have to wait. I will build on this now more like a normal journal. So take a break check out the other journals and come back again in more is added.

PS I do appologize for the whining tone that seems to come out to often in this posting. Oh well.


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Pity The Great Evil

For those of you who have not realized something, I feel the need to reiterate or explain something. Pity is the worst thing you can do to someone. See someone in a wheel chair trying to get through a door, and having trouble. See someone blind (or close too) and trying to work across the street. It is one thing to help them. That is cool. But when the help comes because of pity, it is the worst. Pity disallows someone from being a person. It takes them into the realm of objectification that nothing else does. They become this thing that needs help, that is uncomfortable for others to look at, and in need of you to work on. I doubt I could get this across to someone who has not been the object of pity, but it is horrible. It sickeness me to have someone look at me as if I were a 'thing' on the road. People wonder why cripples are angery and don't want help. It is not that they do not want help, it is that they do not want what that help will mean both to them as people and to you. They are pissed that people are looking at them as objects, and treating them as that as well. Damn I hate it. I want to yell, and scream at people whose eyes glaze into pity when they hear I have MS. I want them to care, but not to pity. But I guess where is the line?


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Me Bothering My Ex-Wife Again

Well here it is, another call to my wife about depression. Enjoy:

Martha, I am calling not to bother, not to bug, or nag, not this time. I am calling because I need to tell you something, something heavy. I need to clear some of the weight off myself. I only need a short while, some moments of your time to do this, and I ask that you grant me this. I will not blame you for anything, I will not nag you about going out with me, I will not need you to respond beyond a yes or an ok here and there; I will just tell you what it is I need to tell you and then be done. Please do not interrupt me while I give you my speech, just let me rattle out this message I have prepared, let me talk, until I am done, and then I will leave you alone for the rest of the day.

I felt the tugging of my depression today. It is the depression of my MS, and not just a depression of sorrow. It creeps up on me all day like the tide does the beach. I have begun to be able to tell when it is starting to build, starting to bury me. It is like the waves of the ocean washing upon me, slowly at first with only a little sorrow hear and there, but it builds, and before long it is pounding down upon me in a fury of pain. My day could have been going great up until then, but after it has begun, I fear that the rest is an unbreakable path.

I want you to understand that this is when I call you and just want to hear your voice. This is the time I need a connection with you to help keep me together. This is my bad days. I do not need you to be nice, or even happy that I am calling, I just need you to be home, I just need to make that connection to help alleviate some of my sorrow. My depression though is getting trickier and it is beginning to use these calls against me. I called you after graduation, and I could tell when I called that you did not want to talk to me. I could tell then that I was being a bother. You had something to do, and you did not want me to be a part of it. I knew this, but my depression kept telling me to call back after we had hung up. It kept telling me to call again, ask again, but only so that it would piss you off. I have felt this pain and anguish building all day now. It was worse then it has been in a long time. I am not sure if you know this but I attempted suicide 2 times after you left in December. I tried and failed. My depression was trying to push me in that direction again, trying to give me reasons to die. It gave it to me by, pissing you off; it used your anger and hate for me as a justification for me to hurt myself. I want to make sure that you know that this is not your fault, that your reaction is what it should have been, and what I knew it would be. It was merely a justification my depression was giving me. I want you to know that anytime in the past that I have hurt myself, and no matter what I do in the future, it is not your fault. When depression takes me, it is looking for anything to use that might hurt me, that might convince myself to hurt me. If what it finds is something from you, it does not make it your fault, and I will never see it that way.

In fact it is you that has kept me alive this long. It is you that has given me the strength to not try to hurt myself again. When I call you and you stay on the phone, when you put up with my bothering it gives me a sense of connection that I need. There is no medication that I can take for this, because it is not a problem with my emotions or my brain, but instead the connection of nerves is beginning to be damaged, and cannot be repaired by anything but my own body, which takes time. There is no therapy or drugs that can relieve me from this depression so I am trapped within it for as long as it can hold me. I have found a way though to limit the damage I do to myself, a way that uses you, or at least my memories of you. I lay upon our bed, and imagine you and the puppies laying with me. You hold me in your arms and whisper in my ear, “everything will be ok, shuuu, everything will be ok.” One hand strokes my hair, while the other holds me tight against you. One of my arms holds the small of your back while the other presses against your upper back. We lay there holding each other, letting each other’s pain be shared and lessened in the process. I imagine here that all the pain you are going through in your life is in my hallucination. I fill it with your pain, so that you can be rid of it. I comfort this image of you, even as it comforts me. I know this seems odd, bordering on insane, but my Doctor, and several books told me try to imagine the best of all possible things, that which I want the most, and hold onto the image. It is suppose to help keep the sorrow at bay. I want to lay like this with you again, and I want you to comfort my sadness more then anything else, and so it is the thing I imagine. Do not be mad at me for using your memories in this way. I just am unable to think of anything else I want more in the world. I do not even want to make love to again as badly as I want to just lay like this, holding each other. It is getting harder though, because the depression is caused by miscommunications in my brain, the image I create is affected by this, it becomes more of a hallucination that becomes almost real to me. I can feel your fingers in my hair the warmth of your body against mine, the feel of your lips on my face. It becomes real, but not real enough. The voice of my depression taunts me with the illusionary aspect of it, and that is why I call you, and bother you. I am trying to connect reality to the image that need. I am trying to gain solace through your voice, so that at least part of the illusion is real. I am ashamed to say that I am using you, for comfort.

I mainly wanted to tell you though that no matter what happens in the future, do not blame yourself. Even if I hurt myself right after we have fought, I want you to know that you are not the cause of it, but my damn illness, you are in fact that which has kept me alive this long. My memories of our life together is what has kept me from ending it long ago. I know that this call has probably ended any chance we have of getting together. I know that it is probably that one bother too much, that depression you do not want in your life, the husband you are trying to discard being needy again, a touch to insane. I know this and still I need the connection it brings. I need to know that you are out there thinking of me, that you do make an attempt to comfort me, even though it might now consist of just not hanging up.

I ask of you one favor though, one more thing. I ask that you keep a thought of me with you. I know that you have a life, and that you do not have time to think endlessly about me, but in those moments of pause or sections of reflection, think of me and send me your love. Do not think of me as the asshole husband you had, or the bothering ex-husband you have, but think of me as the person, the living breathing person who loves you unconditionally and eternally. Think of me and all the happy memories of our time together that we can. Think of me with a smile. Knowing that you do this will help me connect more, it will be a warmth within me to know you think of me and remember our good times. This is selfish I know, but still…..
I need to go now, before you answer me with anger or silence, I will hang up after telling you I love you so as not to hear your refusal to respond. I hope you have a good night, I will always love you.


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Here I am

There have been many times in my life that I am unsure of what to do. I think this is the best way to live. This uncertainty seems to open us up to something inside of us. It seems to refuse our ussual desire to just let life be. We are free, and though it may be a scary thought to totally understand this, it is still true. We are free. I am moving to Honolulu this July, I am thinking of finishing law school there, and though I am unsure of where the money I need is coming from, I will still go.

I have made many mistakes, I have lived many things, and cried many tears. I am happy because I choose to be, I live what I need to understand. What can I do with the life that She has given me but live it. I am here and I here I will stay.